


To Annoy an Angel (And Other Such Repercussions)

by D20Owlbear



Series: 12 Days of Blasphemy [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 12 Days of Blasphemy Challenge (Good Omens), Attende Domine, Blasphemy, Day 3: Prayer, Highly Responsive to Prayers (Good Omens), Light Bondage, M/M, Other, Prayer Used Irresponsibly (Good Omens), Rated M for Nearly Getting There
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:01:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21830416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/pseuds/D20Owlbear
Summary: Crowley recites prayers attempting to rile Aziraphale up. It ends with Aziraphale pulling him down by his scarf.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 12 Days of Blasphemy [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570819
Comments: 18
Kudos: 138
Collections: 12 Days of Blasphemy, Just Enough Of A Bastard to be Worth Knowing Biblically





	To Annoy an Angel (And Other Such Repercussions)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my beta cassie-oh!

Crowley scowled. Aziraphale was ignoring him and he  _ wasn’t _ pleased about it. Sure, this happened plenty. Aziraphale would get wrapped up in some book or another, forgetting even his cocoa until the whipped cream melted and the mug went cold long ago. Aziraphale could go  _ days _ before he remembered that humans were supposed to breathe, even, when he was caught up in a book. Reading it, rebinding it, studying it, reminiscing with it in his hands as he caressed each page. Crowley would have much preferred that sort of attention on him, where it belonged. 

Usually, when Aziraphale got like this, at least in the last couple of years after the apocalypse failed, Crowley pestered and bothered until Aziraphale either shunted him out of the bookshop with an annoyed wave of his hand or, better yet, he huffed in that poncy way of his with a frowning pout on his lips and gave in to Crowley’s desires. Either way, the pestering and botheration was quite a bit of fun.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whined, sitting upside down on the sofa next to Aziraphale’s loveseat, one leg sprawled over the arm of it and tapping arrhythmically at the end table next to it. He rubbed a finger over the leather to make it squeak in a way he  _ knew _ Aziraphale hated, and continued to whine loud and high-pitched, “Aaaangel. Aziraphaaalee…” It was getting him nowhere. Unless…

A wicked grin sliced through his face with all the air of the Grinch Who Stole Christmas hatching a devious plan. “Phil!” The book Aziraphale was reading closed shut with a weighty  _ snap _ and Crowley’s eyes widened at the fiery glare he was suddenly on the receiving end of. Perfect.

“Just.  _ what _ . Do you. Want. Crowley.” Aziraphale pressed through clenched jaw. Crowley took the opportunity for what it was and slithered off the couch in a move that might have looked ridiculous if he were in any way bound to the same bodily physics humans were, but instead just looked sinuous. Which was exactly what he was going for. Crowley grinned wider yet and paced behind Aziraphale’s chair.

“Nothing.” He purred, his lips brushing the shell of Aziraphale’s ear as he leaned over the back of the loveseat, his hands on either arm just barely in view in Aziraphale’s periphery. “Just like it when you listen to me.” Crowley flicked his serpentine tongue at the sensitive space just behind Aziraphale’s ear, barely a touch at all, but he certainly hit his mark if Aziraphale’s tensed shoulders spoke true.

“Hear me, O Angel, and have mercy, because I have sinned against Thee.” He murmured, switching to the other ear, breathing holy words of entreaty turned profane in the mouth of a demon. He let the words for beseeching divinity drip from his silvery serpent tongue and land exactly where he wanted them to. It wasn’t a full demonic Temptation–Crowley rarely needed such powers to get the job done. And especially not when he was dedicated to seeing it through all the way to the end. Aziraphale did always react so well.

“To Thee, highest of all, do I lift my eyes in weeping,” Crowley pitched his voice low and Aziraphale’s shoulders tensed even more. “Hear, O Angel, the prayers of your  _ servant.” _ Aziraphale shifted in the chair, just a small wiggle right-to-left, and Crowley could tell his knees had parted–barely a centimeter, but part they did.

“Hear me, O Angel, and have mercy, because I have sinned against Thee.” Crowley intoned again, using the tip of his nose to brush up Aziraphale’s neck and breathe in deeply when it reached his angel’s hair. Aziraphale smelled of vanillans, beautifully supple leather and old barbershops. Crowley skipped the next refrain, not particularly interested in his sins being washed away, maybe later, if it was Aziraphale who did it. 

“I beseech Thee, Angel, in Thy great majesty: Hear my groans,” the wily serpent continued his slow circuit around Aziraphale and trailed his fingertips over his angels shoulders, down his arms, and pressed his fingers over the backs of Aziraphale’s hands. This prompted the angel to breathe for the first time since Crowley started and release them from the grip he’d gathered his trouser legs in. “With Thy holy ears: calmly forgive my crimes.”

Aziraphale huffed and attempted to turn his nose up at Crowley, to pretend at aloofness, but Crowley could see the way Aziraphale’s eyes never left their hands, high up on Aziraphale’s thighs as they were. Crowley drew back, hiding his smile with his arms as he unburdened himself of the thin, metallic scarf and the silver chain around his neck. He stood in a smooth motion and once his chest was eye level with Aziraphale, he started to  _ slowly _ unbutton his waistcoat. Aziraphale’s breathing stuttered to a stop once more, too engrossed to remember to playact human.

“Hear me, O Angel, and have mercy, because I have sinned against Thee.” Crowley paused for only a moment to throw his waistcoat unceremoniously to the sofa he’d been lounging on only moments before. “To Thee, I confess, my sins admitted,” the demon purred, happy at the sheer intensity of attention on him from Aziraphale, how it burned straight through his corporation and how he could feel the gaze of thousands of eyes burrow into his very soul. His own breathing hitched as he felt  _ all _ of Aziraphale’s eyes, the eyes of a guardian meant to watch and  _ see _ , turn to him. He felt the scales of his demonic form respond, forcing their way past his usual control and to spread over his thighs underneath tight jeans and up his back and wrapping around his ribs and shoulders.

“W-with a contrary heart I reveal myself hidden,” Crowley stuttered breathlessly at the mortifying ordeal of being  _ Seen _ and, hopefully, soon to be Known, as he gripped his charcoal heather shirt and ripped it over his head, mussing his hair enough to fall out of its tie and spread messily over his shoulders.

“By Thy kindness, O Angel, do not overlook it.”  _ Do not overlook me _ , Crowley pleaded in the safety of the privacy of his own head, half admitting it anyway with the Attende Domine prayer he’d chosen to blaspheme with. “Hear me, O Angel, and have mercy, because I have sinned against Thee.”

“No.” Aziraphale whispered, voice strained with all the effort it took to keep himself in the chair, hands nearly cracking the hardwood detailing of the arms where his blunted fingers crushed into it.

“What?” Crowley choked in surprise, reeling back a step, suddenly conscious of the fact he hadn’t gotten any input from Aziraphale, just tensing. Was it too much? Was he not actually interested? Fuck, he’s bollocksed it all up–

Crowley was about to start grabbing up his clothing again, embarrassed enough he’d forgotten about simply snapping them back on, before Aziraphale grabbed his hands and stood, pulling them up so Crowley’s arms were pinned to his chest.

“A–” The demon was cut off by a rough kiss to his lips and a tongue invading his mouth. Aziraphale hummed, pleased, when Crowley relaxed into the kiss and moaned happily.

“You were saying?” Aziraphale broke the kiss and raised an imperious eyebrow with that bastard smile Crowley loved so much and that bastard glee in his eyes Crowley kept falling head over heels for. 

“Ngrk?” Crowley squeaked. He cleared his throat and, in a breathy, raspy voice, continued to the end of the prayer. “The Innocent, seized, not refusing to be led.” 

The angel smirked and transferred both of Crowley’s wrists to one of his hands, tilting his fingers until they were miraculously filled with the slinky scarf Crowley had just removed. They’d used it enough times in situations just like this that Aziraphale’s fingers twitched sometimes in public with the desire to drag the demon around by the knot in it. Happy to do just that, he looped the length of metal-weave accessory around Crowley’s wrists and tied a lazy zip snare so he had plenty of lead with the tasseled ends soft and delicate in his palm. 

Aziraphale stepped back and led Crowley along with him to the chair, sitting down on the edge of the seat with his legs open wide, wide enough for Crowley to kneel piously in front of his favorite godhead when Aziraphale drew him down by the metal knit scarf, the soft fabric pulling around his wrists, “C-consumed by Thy witness Seen by pious men.” Crowley swallowed loudly and the blood of his corporation rushed through his veins like he’d been running sprints.

“O Angel, keep safe whom Thou hast redeemed.” The demon’s mouth went dry when Aziraphale put his hands on the buttons of tweed trousers, helping him in making quick work of getting rid of the obstruction to Aziraphale’s flesh. 

“Convince me, my dear.” Aziraphale murmured, looking down at Crowley with such intense, hazel eyes, like storm clouds gathering far over fields of summer-darkened wheat. Crowley’s mouth watered as if it had never gone dry in the first place and he pulled Aziraphale’s cock out from its confines. With a whimper of arousal, Crowley swallowed Aziraphale down to the root and hummed, rising to a headspace of floating bliss before he was pulled off with a tight grip in his fiery hair. 

“Finish.” Aziraphale commanded.

Crowley gulped and whined, shifting in his kneeling so he could grind against the carpeted floor for any sort of relief. It only inflamed him further and he whined again, hands gripping at Aziraphale’s thighs where they rested. “Hear me, O Angel, and  _ have mercy _ , because I have sinned against Thee.”

“Pay your penance, then try your prayers again, demon.” The hand in Crowley’s hair loosened and he surged forward to do just that in hopes of getting fucked over the coffee table like he’d been angling for since that morning. 


End file.
